


use your hands and my spare time

by ohtempora



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 19:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16270814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohtempora/pseuds/ohtempora
Summary: "This is a bad idea," Luke says, out loud, to clear the air.He's sleeping with the guy who's supposed to replace him. He can't say it's the greatest decision he's ever made.





	use your hands and my spare time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ewidentnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ewidentnie/gifts).



> more fic about backup catchers?? U BET.

"This is a bad idea," Luke says, out loud, to clear the air.  
  
Danny is between Luke's legs, hair sticking up where he ran his hands through it, glasses sliding down his nose. He doesn't look like anything special, just another guy on his knees with a red open mouth and dark eyelashes that flutter when Luke thrusts in too far, nudges against the back of his throat. They're in a hotel room — they're in Baltimore but it could be any other humid east coast city — he's picked up brown-haired boys in Baltimore and New York and Boston so many times before.  
  
The popping noise Danny's mouth makes when he slides off Luke's dick is loud enough to be heard over the air conditioner.  
  
Danny says, "No fucking shit."  
  


   
It started in spring training, down in Florida where every bad idea sounds like it'll turn out alright. Luke knew he'd be backing up Russ behind the dish then. Knew the clock was ticking. Knew Jansen would make the team sooner than not.  
  
Danny, he found out later, wanted sooner to be right now, like any other top prospect. Danny Jansen, Jays prospect, All-Star Futures Game catcher.  
  
There was some conversation in a shitty, seedy sports bar, tucked into a booth because a couple people recognized the pitching staff and asked Stro and Marco for autographs. There was enough beer to make it blurry. A hand on a thigh, fingernails catching on denim. Luke doesn’t remember who made the first move. He doesn’t know if it’s better or not if it was him.  
  
  


Luke pushes on Danny’s shoulder until he leans back in, presses an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of Luke’s thigh.

“You have to keep the glasses on?” he asks. They’re sliding down Danny’s nose. Luke doesn’t want them to hit him in the dick.

Danny pulls back again. “Do you want me to be able to see?”

Okay, yeah, Luke’s being kind of shitty. He hasn’t played in days, stuck on the bench and wondering when exactly over the offseason he’ll get traded, where; one thing to hear the rumors about the Dodgers, another to wonder if he’s going to be sent to purgatory on a tanking team in the Midwest. Like, he could break camp with the Royals.

He lets his legs fall open more, doesn’t say anything, but brushes his hand carefully over Danny’s head. Danny kisses the tip of his dick, then takes him back in.

  
  
  


Here’s what they don’t talk about: catching.

They don’t talk much at all when they’re not together in a locked hotel room. But — Luke could, if he wanted, pass on tips on game-calling. He knows the staff, while Danny only knows the guys who came up with him from Buffalo, and they’re all wild pitches and too many home runs, results independent of who’s behind the plate.

It’s fine. Russ is more suited to the mentor role. Danny seeks him out, doesn’t go to Luke, but Russ is more at peace with what his job is. That, Luke thinks, is the difference, tied up with the seven years between them, making an All-Star Game, getting acknowledged as such. And the security of a multi-million dollar contract. Russ has that, too.

  
  
  


“Do you want to fuck me?”

"What?” Danny says. He’s sitting back on his heels, working his jaw like it’s a little sore. He’s obviously hard in his athletic shorts. It feels good to know that. Sucking Luke off did it for him.

“Do you want to fuck me.” Luke’s got his own shorts tangled around his feet, and he kicks them off, then strips out of his shirt.

“Is that—” Danny blinks. “An option?”

“I’m offering.”

Danny yanks his shirt off, pulling it over his head, then gets out of his shorts and boxers. His dick is sticking out, curving up towards his stomach; Luke’s jerked him off a bunch, blown him a few times. He’s He’s pretty familiar with Danny’s dick, but they haven’t done this.

“Is this, uh.” Danny’s coloring. The flush works its way down his neck and chest. “Okay to do before games? I’ve never — not during the season.”

Luke’s not going to think about it too closely. He’s not going to be in the lineup tomorrow, he’s pretty sure; even if he was, it’d be fine. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I don’t like it _that_ rough.”

“Jesus.” Danny's bright red, now. The look isn't bad for him. He makes it work.

Luke stashed lube in his suitcase, with vague ambitions of picking up someone else — someone who didn’t give a flying fuck about baseball, maybe. He’ll let Danny assume what he will. “Just wait there.”

Other circumstances, he’d draw it out, take it slow. Make it a tease, put on a show. Instead he opens himself up efficiently, two fingers and then three, watching how Danny stares him anyway with wide eyes, an open, bitten mouth.

“Okay,” Luke says. “Lie back.”  
  
  


He wonders where he’ll go next year. So much of it is dependent on others, what the catching market ends up looking like. If Grandal stays with the Dodgers — what happens with Yadi Molina — if the Red Sox decide they want someone behind the plate who can hit worth a damn — he’s not a GM. If anyone cared to ask, he’d like to stay in Toronto. He might not have a choice.

Luke does know it’s worth it. Playing. Sometimes in the minors he’d ask himself, _is this it_ , stuck on a bus in the rain, surrounded by thirty snoring dudes and not stopping for McDonald’s until they made it through the entire goddamn state.

And he thinks — what it’d be like to sign a long-term contract, know he’s staying, not have to ever worry about packing his shit and heading down to Buffalo again. Probably it’d be pretty fucking nice.

  
  
  


Danny is flat on the bed, hand cupped around his dick, jacking himself slowly. He’s propped himself up on a few pillows, so he can look at Luke over the rims of his glasses. Luke tosses him the lube, and Danny slicks himself up.

Luke inhales and knee-walks up the bed, straddles Danny and reaches to grab his dick, then slowly sinks down.

It’s good, the stretch. The blown-out look on Danny’s face is better. Luke braces himself with a hand on Danny’s chest and starts to move. Danny plants his feet and moves with him. _Good instinct_ , Luke thinks, like he’s evaluating the kid instead of getting fucked by him. He shakes his head, shifts his hips and lets himself make noise when heat starts sliding up and down his spine.

Season’s over soon. Presumably this ends when the regular season does.

“Still a bad idea,” he says, fingers curling over Danny’s shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah.” Danny thrusts up hard and Luke groans, caught by surprise. Danny’s red-faced and his glasses are sliding down his face and he’s sweating. The air conditioner buzzes and kicks into overdrive. Luke wraps a hand around himself and jerks himself off in time to Danny’s thrusts, gets over every thought in his head about catching and competition and contracts, and leans down to kiss Danny when he comes.


End file.
